Radioactive
by TheMarauderBandit
Summary: "Now, this ain't jus' a bar fight between two spoiled angel kids, ya hear? This could very well actually be the end of the world, and I suggest ya don't jus' sit around contemplatin' the meanin' of life." Turning towards Castiel, who was leaning heavily against the wall, his eyes shining, he frowned. "You're gonna die, kiddo." Rated T for minor language, multi-chapter.


_Yes, yes, I know. I shouldn't be writing these new stories if I haven't even gotten close to finishing my old ones, but... after my break of one-shots (because I needed to have some things on here actually **finished**), I've decided to reward myself with a multi-chapter. If you know me... you'd know how insanely addicted I've gotten to Supernatural. The show's great, and I love Castiel... just love him, so! Buon divertimento!_

_**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize- if I did, well... let's say, it'd be less of a huggy, warm cuddly show. Yeah, that's right. (Because the show is so freaking warm and cuddly)._

_**Ships:** I do ship Destiel, but unfortunately for you shippers, this fic will only contain it if you squint. _

_On the manner of OCs... Yes, there will be a few, starting with li'l Miss Miriam._

_~Bandit_

* * *

Radioactive

**Prologue**

Miriam Abbott had been eleven years old when she stepped foot into her first bar, which her father owned, and served at every day of his short life. It was only three years after that when he was killed of what was supposed heart failure, and Miriam was handed down the 'Broken Angel', the most famous tavern in the small town of Clarkfield, Minnesota, since her mother had died in childbirth. After convincing her great-aunt Caitlyn to move in with her, so she wouldn't have to be alone with her alcoholic brother, which was a great coincidence, since she would spend the rest of her life with the lot, and eventually become one herself. Miriam Abbott was known as the nicest little girl in town, even after she hit the age of twenty, despite her drinking habits. The greatest men around would describe her as the only girl in the north that could hold her liquor without becoming a pain in the ass, and the woman would describe her as the most innocent non-virgin they've ever met.

It was around the winter of 1988 that her bar burned down, due to the strike of lightening, and while the entire town watched in horror as the greatest place in the entire state burned down, they said their farewell to Miriam Abbott as well. She'd gone down in the flames, as the 'Broken Angel' was the only real home she'd ever known. The place where she'd slept, ate, and lived her life like everyone else. She'd been dreaming of a life where she didn't carry the responsibility she had then at the time that she caught fire. Everyone was sad to see her go, and they mourned her lose for several days, before getting over her, and going about as they should. For fifteen years after that, one December 19th, they would all raise their glasses, and say: "To the Abbotts." But in 2003, a newcomer headed into town, and bought the ruins of the old bar.

His name was Derek Class, and he was widely known as the most respectable man there; he dealt good business, and ran a fine bar at his time in the town. With a new place to relax, have a few beers, and meet a few willing virgins, the town members soon learned to forget old Miriam. Her body had been cremated. It was a lost memory, and her birthday soon became a forgotten myth. The old people of the town still smiled sadly when they passed by the 'Guardian Angel', remembering a time when things had not been so sweet in the world, and yet it seemed like it was heaven on earth. They soon passed. But things were never right in the town, things were never the same. The children whom had known the 19th as the most important holiday could no longer remember why, and their children would soon hear the name Miriam Abbott, and wonder which war she helped in, wonder why she had a special place in the heart of the town.

And though catastrophe hit the world around, the town of Clarkfield was never touched by the horrors—their power lines went out, and yet they did not notice. No TV worked, and radios were soon thrown in the trash, and not a single soul cared. The kids learned how to stroll down the street, playing Frisbee or hockey when cars weren't driving by, and the adults lived their life by working, coming home, and taking a trip to the 'Guardian Angel ' with their spouses to take the rest of the night off. But it was Sophia Miller who first reported that something strange was going on. Her father had been discovered dead in the backrooms of the old bar, and yet no one questioned why. They said the cause of death had been liver failure. But Sophie didn't believe that. She started to notice that strange illnesses were popping up around town, but when she spoke about it, the people only called her crazy.

She called the first person she could think of: a man who had roamed through the town when she was only eight years old, and had saved a few kids from what was believed to be a phantom truck. Though the members of the city only called him crazy, saying it was really just an insane psycho who escaped, they accepted his offer to ever help again. His number hung in the sheriff's office. This man, Bobby Singer, listened intently to every word she said, clinging onto her tone of voice, the descriptions, everything. Sophie had forgotten what it was like for someone to actually believe her, and whether he was faking it or not, she'd never know. But he said he'd call in some friends of his.

The entire place was just lucky in general that Sophie hadn't been entranced by the spell of Miriam Abbott, but they were pushing their chances when two hunters named Sam and Dean arrived into the town. Clarkfield hit a jackpot when it turned out that they brought their friend, and angel name Castiel with them. Minnesota had never known anything too horrible, even as the apocalypse struck the country, and when the three drove into the small town in their shining black car, who purred with every twitch of the foot that Dean Winchester put onto the gas petal, it seemed that Clarkfield would be saved. But it's better not to jinx a place that's already on the fine line of karma and cursed.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the short taste of the story to come! This was truthfully not my best work, but any of you who have dealt with me before know that I get lazy on holidays, and I never use an editor, so... Please, review! The next chapter should be up very soon!**

**Following my very old tradition, which I haven't brought out in a long time, here's a sneak peak of the first chapter:**

**x-X-x-X-x**

"No, Dean, this isn't just angel... mojo we're dealing with." Shaking his head, Castiel let his eyebrows furrow, lips twitching downwards into what would resemble a frown if he hadn't let his face turn right back to stone the very next second. "It's very serious, and I'd appreciate it if you acted that way. For now, let's focus on the case, there are people dying."

**x-X-x-X-x**


End file.
